Its almost midnight, and I'm writing this story from the kitchen floor in our home...
Growing up I'd always had my curiosities about Christmas. Every other holiday has it's own mystery quite alright. But Christmas.. Christmas just simply gives my curiosity the edges. Especially the part about Santa...
Santa's Guilty Pleasure...
See, I'm a six year old boy. But before you pause and begin to form opinions, let it sink in.. I have a minimum of five years experience in this. Now that's a whole lot of experience to have, and I bet some of y'all wish you had half that number for your job interviews. Well, you don't..
Anyways, Santa...
Now for five whole years (again, let it really sink in) I've been fed stories about this strange pot bellied man in red and white, who somehow through all this time couldn't manage to get his hands on a shaving stick.
Well, I didn't mind much, still don't, because he always comes bearing gifts. Even though some of them usually carries a strand or two of that white silky hair of his. Like I would ever have wished for one of that for Christmas. But then gifts are... Well, gifts...
Which brings me to why I'm telling all of this; its Christmas Eve, so tomorrow is Christmas...
Now, knowing I've not particularly been of good behavior through the year (remember I'm six, and just learning the interesting art of dissent), I should be quite worried about not getting any of my Christmas wishes. But I'm not, and you know why? Well, again you don't. So I'll tell you...
I'm about to satisfy my curiosities. I'm holding santa hostage soon as he steps down that chimney.
Surprised? You shouldn't be. I did say I was writing this from the kitchen floor at midnight remember? Why else would I be doing that on Christmas Eve? You see it now don't you? That's the very spirit which...
Wait... there's a noise. But it isn't coming from the chimney. No, not even from inside the kitchen. This is somewhere else, probably the living room. Santa's trying to be smart..
Well, lucky you. You get to live the exciting part of my story with me...
I get up, and slowly I tiptoe, making my way through the hall to the door of the living room. My heart is beating fast, my legs shaky. At the last moment just before I walk in on Santa I hold my breath... And I'm totally shook by what I see...
I've spent five years -well, all my life- building up to this moment. I've got questions to ask, I've got curiosities to satisfy. Yet standing right here, my feet glued to the floor, all I can think of is...
"Why on Earth is my mum breastfeeding Santa?"
THE END
Written for 
I had initially thought I would skip this round. At first the prompt had thrown me, and I had mentally put it aside. But I had a cold and cough last night and a lil bout of insomnia can sometimes be a kick up my lazy butt.
So was this birthed...
And that last sentence? I only decided on it this morning.
Hope y'all enjoyed reading, more than I did writing.
